Rockstar
by sleepy-geeky
Summary: Demyx sees a concert flyer and remembers his Somebody.


Title: Rock Star

Canon: KH II

Characters or pairing: Demyx, mainly

Rating: PG for creepiness and Pratchett reference.

Genre: Drama/Introspection

Notes: Please excuse me if canon is a little off, don't have access to youtube, gamefaqs, or any media streaming sites right now (due to school filters). So feel free to correct me! Written and edited under the influence of Hawk Nelson and Reliant K, so you've been fairly warned.

They were pushing and shoving along the back ally in Traverse Town, not really drunk but pretending because they all thought it was what immature young men did. Apparently metabolism worked different for Nobodies or maybe the Demyx could just hold his liquor better than he had in his 'younger' days, because the three of them had each had enough to make a body tipsy. He snorted because remembered tipsy, remembered the woozy good feelings that made everyone in the whole world your very attractive friend. Maybe if Demyx squinted he could pretend Axel was pretty but probably not because he was still taller and could kill Demyx if he really wanted, but then so could anyone in the Organization. Axel tripped and let out a loud, slightly scary laugh and Roxas smirked, kicking his best friend lightly. The Keyblade wielder's face burned red enough for the three to see by, practically, and the older two nobodies guessed that his Somebody had never even tried anything stronger than watery wine.

Demyx grinned and leaned back on the projecting outside of the hotel, eyeing the festival flyers strung along from the balcony over to the opposite wall and wondering if he could swing from that string. A purplish pink one caught his eye so he reached up and plucked it down easily and continued ignoring the obnoxious sounds of Axel's 'drunken' laughter and Roxas's hiccup-y giggles.

"DYME," declared the bright, vaguely tacky flyer in the sort of bold, ugly typeface sold only to cheap advertising agencies. A young man with a dark faux-mohawk, friendly blue eyes and a big grin floated between the headline and details: "Third District! One night only! Come see the rock sensation in person!" He shivered and pulled his black coat closer to his body, still staring at the picture and wondering how long he had been a Nobody and why the flyer was still up.

If he closed his eyes like he was now, squeezed them really tight, he felt the spotlights on the huge stage constructed in the courtyard in Third District, heard the screams of a million fans all chanting his name… That's what he wanted, wasn't it? He wanted that more than a Nobody should, like Axel wanted Roxas's friendship and Roxas wanted a past.

Dyme spent his last minutes with a heart on top of the world. The music from the band flowed in waves over Demyx's memories like a soundtrack from the images in his mind. He pictured not what it had looked like to him – to Dyme – but what it looked like to the crowd or those people in the crowd that hadn't run screaming. Quickly the Heartless trapped Dyme, who cried frantically for help, cornered between a speaker and the stone wall and desperately swinging a guitar as though it would somehow keep the things away. They came, creeping slowly and weaving faintly in a way that only now reminded him only of his own Dancers. The circle they form overlaps on the ground, like so many black puddles. He could almost feel their gentle, caress-like prodding just before they all piled in for the kill…

Demyx jerked himself into the present by opening his eyes wide and spinning wildly, checking his coat for any stray Shadows. None hung around here now, not after the real Keyblade Master – the kid, Sora – had cleansed this world and he realized his actions were silly. He sucked air between his teeth, gave a laugh that sounded more like a choke, and glanced nervously at his two friends. Roxas had fallen down beside Axel and they had taken up a tune about buggering a hedgehog; apparently his little spaz attack had flown under the radar. Maybe they really were drunk.

He sighed and glanced at the flier one last time before letting it drop and be carried into the "secret" waterway and into pipes and a river and after that who knew? Dyme always did like the ocean. Demyx did, too.


End file.
